


Silver Lining

by illyrilex



Category: King of Fighters
Genre: Defeat, First Meetings, Gen, Mild Hurt/Comfort, New Friendship, Pls stop looking at King's boobs, She's gonna lose it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:55:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23996374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illyrilex/pseuds/illyrilex
Summary: King's decision to set things right after her defeat at L'Amour ultimately leads her to... her soulmate???
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	1. Downtown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw shit, here we go again.
> 
> This time I'm delving back into King's post-L'Amour experience for realsies, and not in a dream, as I did previously (Grim Struggle, yo). Anyway, some stuff happens in this story. You can read it if you want.
> 
> Onward~

The woman who went by the alias "King" sat on the floor of L'Amour Restaurant and Bar, her arms wrapped around herself in an effort to keep her torn shirt and sports bra from revealing too much of her chest, and glared at the pair of men standing over her.

"I told you everything I know," she said as she somewhat clumsily wiped blood from the corner of her mouth while trying not to show off any more skin.  
  
"How do we know you're telling the truth?"

King turned her head so she could get a better look at the dark-haired man who addressed her. She decided that he would have been very handsome if he had been better dressed and maybe grew a goatee or something. Nevertheless, he was regarding her with distrust. Hell, maybe even outright contempt.

"Do I look like someone who would lie?" King asked, the irony of her question not lost on her. After all, she had spent the last seven months doing nothing _but_ lying to everyone about everything. Who she _really_ was, what she _really_ did for a living, why she _really_ needed the money… She couldn't help letting out a bitter chuckle, which clearly annoyed Mr. Almost Very Handsome.

"You're obviously a shining beacon of honesty," he said with a nicely timed eye roll. "How do we know you're not full of shit?"  
"You don't," King said with a shrug. "But…"

It was then that the other guy — the one who had just kicked her ass and blown her shirt open with some kind of ki blast — knelt down in front of her. He squinted at her thoughtfully, so she squinted right back and tried not to get too distracted by his garish, orange gi. Or his eyes, which were a _very_ pretty hazel.

"Why do you suddenly want to help us?" Mr. Orange asked carefully. "What do _you_ get out of it?"  
"A clearer conscience," King answered.  
"...Really?"

The distrust practically _dripped_ off of him.

"I don't know what else you want me to say —" King scowled while holding herself even tighter — "I'm not proud of the things I've done for Big… sometimes it keeps me up at night. Just like this will, because I was never okay with it. If I had known ahead of time… I don't know. Maybe things could have been different…"

Mr. Orange continued to study King, who was beginning to feel more embarrassed than she already was. This guy had just beaten her in a fight, destroyed her shirt, which exposed her secret to any and everyone who so much as walked by the damn restaurant, and was now regarding her as if she was some kind of lab specimen.

"You're not like those others," he commented after a moment.  
"Yeah, no shit," Mr. Almost Very Handsome spat.  
"Dude," Mr, Orange said. "Back off for a minute."

King took a deep breath and looked from Mr. Orange (holy shit, those eyes…!) to Mr. Almost Very Handsome, who was glaring daggers at her.

"If you don't believe me, then that's your problem," she said evenly, "but I suggest you stop wasting your time trying to figure out my motives and get the hell out of here so you can find your sister…!"

Mr. Orange made a face before standing up and turning to his companion.

"She's right. We're wasting time!"  
"So we're just gonna ignore the fact that _she_ — not _he_ — might be screwing with us the same way she was obviously screwing with the people she _works_ for?!"  
"We have no choice but to take her word for it," Mr. Orange replied as he started walking away. "Let's go!"

Mr. Almost Very Handsome narrowed his eyes at King and blew air out through his nose. He stared at her for just a moment before mumbling a grudging "thanks," and turning away to catch up with his partner.

As for King, several minutes passed before she even considered getting up, as the skirmish with Mr. Orange had taken a lot out of her. She had never fought anyone like him before: his technique actually gave her quite the run for her money, and his determination to find his sister shone through with every punch or every kick he threw. It was admirable… and relatable: If someone ever kidnapped her little brother she would do everything in her power to find him — just like Mr. Orange was probably doing everything in _his_ power to find _his_ sibling...

At that moment King was startled by a noise from somewhere behind her. She quickly turned to see the bartender, a very old man named Bruce, hesitantly emerging from the other side of the counter. In all of the excitement she had completely forgotten that he was even on the premises. Had he been crouched back there the whole time?! King never took her eyes off of Bruce as he made his way over to her, his face steeped in bewilderment. His gaze lingered on her upper half for just a little too long before he finally offered his hand to help her up. She stared blankly at him, still a little shell shocked about everything that had taken place over the last half hour.

"I always knew there was something funny about you," the bartender remarked.

King didn't say anything. She kept one arm wrapped around herself and hesitantly took the old man's hand, allowing him to help her to her feet. She then turned her back to him so she could survey the damage to her shirt and bra, as well as the tape that had been binding her chest. The word "mangled" immediately came to mind as she pulled a loose button from the shirt. She reached off to the side of her left breast and tugged at a bit of athletic tape that was hanging limply: she started pulling it off and out of her top, all the while frowning at the warped, broken zipper on the front of her ripped sports bra. She then pulled off her crooked bow tie and unbuttoned her collar, which felt like it was choking her.

"You know, Big is going to be very upset when he finds out about this," Bruce spoke up.  
"I don't care," King sighed while she dropped the tie on the floor.

And she really didn't. She had been following Mr. Big's orders for far too long — had watched him do reprehensible things while she got her hands dirty, and, in a lot of cases, bloody. Little by little and bit by bit every single aspect of her job as Big's enforcer had become too much for her. She spent countless hours trying to formulate a plan to get away from it — to just get _out_ — but being part of the fucking _mob_ didn't exactly work that way. So she stayed… and reminded herself that she was only doing it for the money; she was only doing it for her brother. But, thanks to Jack, the cash (or lack thereof) wasn't as much of a consolation prize as it should have been.

With a shaky breath King adjusted her top so that it covered as much of her bruised flesh as possible and hugged herself once more before turning to acknowledge Bruce, who was staring right at her as if a light bulb had gone off over his head.

"I remember you," he said before King could speak. "That pointy nose of yours… You were the waitress with the legs…!"

King pressed her lips in a thin line, utterly defeated, and gave a little nod.

"I hate to say it, but I don't remember your name."  
"It doesn't matter."

King squeezed her eyes shut while continuing to press her lips together as a massive tension headache began to set in. She wanted nothing more than to pick herself up, go home, and break down over a bottle of wine and some candy, but she _needed_ to keep herself cool and composed; if she lost it in front of _anyone_ she would come across as a stupid, weak woman, which was exactly what she had worked so hard to avoid. She also needed to make things right… though she wasn't entirely sure of what the hell that even meant anymore. There was a long silence before Bruce finally asked, "What are you going to do now?"

King sighed and started toward the exit.

"...Something I should have done a while ago."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, damn. What's she gonna do you guys?! Here we go with the notessssssuuuhhhhhhhh:
> 
> * King's thoughts are obviously a nod to the future glow-up Robert has for KOF XIV. Say what you will about the character redesigns (I know I've said plenty) but Robert's is dope.  
> * I think seven months is a more reasonable amount of time for King to pull the long con as opposed to, like... YEARS before AOF, which wouldn't even make sense, since she was a literal teenager.  
> * Although Ryo is Mr. Orange because of his gi, there's a character in the movie Reservoir Dogs called... Mr. Orange.  
> * Looks like King has always thought Ryo's eyes are nice, huh? :D  
> * Bruce, the bartender, first makes an appearance in R&D, which is a few clicks that way.  
> * Jack Turner defeats King at some point prior to AOF. I wrote about this event in another fic, A Profound Impact, and ties into this narrative that he's blackmailing her (which I hope to expand on and explain in more detail in the future.
> 
> I think that covers this chapter, so, like... yay! I do hope you'll let me know your thoughts on this, and join me next time when... stuff!
> 
> Cheers~!


	2. Uncertain Times

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I debated holding this for a little longer, but, I mean. It's done; there's nowhere else for me to take it, and, quite frankly, I'm a messy bitch who lives for validation so, without further ado... I present chapter two.
> 
> Onward~!

“I need to turn myself in.”

The officer at the reception desk didn’t even look up at King, who stood on the other side of the wooden surface fidgeting with the remnants of her shirt. In what was probably one of the stupidest decisions she had ever made in her life, she went straight from L’Amour to the Southtown PD building without stopping at home to change her clothes first. Instead, she had walked through the city in something of a stupor, head down, arms wrapped tightly around herself while she thought about her next course of action. Despite the darkness that had set in, her bruised skin and ripped up shirt were perfectly visible under the many street lamps and, unsurprisingly, elicited stares from all manner of people as she passed them: Many men stopped in their tracks or craned their necks to try to get a peek at whatever skin they could, whereas one or two women inquired about her well-being. She had largely ignored everyone and everything until the wind picked up, which gave her a harsh reminder that not only was winter only a few short days away, but, also, she should have _really_ gone home for a shirt — or at least a jacket.

And, so, finally indoors, King awkwardly rubbed her arms up and down so as not to flash her scantily clad breasts in an effort to warm herself as she waited for the officer to acknowledge her. After what seemed like an eternity, the man _finally_ tore his eyes away from his paperwork and pushed it off to the side.   
  
“Now. What did you need?” He asked in a very bored tone.   
  
King stopped moving. Did this guy honestly not hear _any_ thing she said? Annoyed, she opened her mouth to speak but no words came out because her sense of self-preservation abruptly started kicking in: it was screaming at her to run — run far away and never look back. But that wasn’t what she was there for; she hadn’t walked eight (or was it nine?) blocks to the police station beat up and in tattered garments just to say, “never mind.” With a calming breath she stood a little straighter and fixed her eyes on the man across from her.   
  
“I need to turn myself in,” she repeated.   
  
There was a loaded pause: The deputy, who clearly couldn’t care less about probably anything, raised his bushy eyebrows. His eyes flicked to the cleavage that was just barely visible between King’s criss-crossed arms before he laced his fingers together.   
  
“For _what_ , exactly?”   
  
King grimaced as she thought of everything she had been involved with in some way or another, and all of the charges that were more than likely going to be brought against her as a result: As one of the Big Bad’s enforcers she had been tasked with collecting debts, which mostly consisted of beating the shit out of whoever wronged Big when he didn’t feel like getting his hands dirty, so that would be assault and battery; she aided and abetted known criminals as they carried out drug deals, bought and sold illegal arms, and pimped women out. (That last one _really_ got to her…) And, now, she was an accessory to kidnapping. It was a lot, and although she was going to go down for it she would make sure to take Big and his whole damn crew with her. It was going to be a very painful move; she wouldn’t be able to see her brother for who knew how long, but at least she’d put an end to all of the bullshit, and maybe atone for her own disgraceful actions on some level.   
  
...At least, that’s what she hoped.   
  
“I used to work for Mr. Big,” King stated numbly.   
“Mr. Big? As in Geese Howard’s lapdog Mr. Big?”   
“Yes.”   
“What do you mean ‘used to?’”   
“I quit,” King answered.  
“Okay, then. Your name.”   
“King.”   
  
That seemed to puzzle the deputy; he furrowed his brow and looked King over once more.   
  
“You don’t look like a ‘king’ to me,” he scoffed. “More like a peasant.”   
“Hey, va te faire foutre!” King responded without thinking.   
“Yeah, yeah. What is your _name_ ?”   
  
King shut her eyes and let out a deep sigh. She had spent so much time going by her alias that it was almost a little difficult to answer to her _actual_ name — which she wasn’t very fond of to begin with. It was so flowery and delicate… not at all like her. But it couldn’t be helped…   
  
“...Cécile,” she mumbled. She watched Deputy Dickhead type her name into his computer but frowned when she caught a glimpse of the screen.  
  
“It’s spelled with a C,” she corrected. “And there’s an accent mark over the first E.”   
“Uh-huh. Last name.”   
“Levasseur.”

Deputy Dickhead slowly typed King’s surname (which she had to spell for him) into what she assumed was the police database before calling another, _ruder_ officer over. _That_ person escorted King through the police station and into the processing area in the back of the building, where she was curtly asked a plethora of questions about the nature of her crimes: what they were, what they entailed, when they occurred. Once finished, her fingerprints were taken, her personal items were confiscated, and she was ushered in front of a camera to have her mugshot captured, which was the catalyst for the beginning of a breakdown she was going to have to try _very_ hard to suppress. Because, while it was true that she had frequently thought about turning herself in, actually doing it was an entirely different story. She was _really_ there; she was _really_ in jail.

When all was said and done King pressed her lips together while she silently followed yet _another_ officer down a short hall to the holding area, where she had to walk past occupied cells and try her best to ignore the catcalls and slurs that were being thrown at her by various drunkards and thugs.   
  
“I should put you in there with them,” the cop with her grumbled. “After all the shit you’ve done for Big? You don’t deserve kindness. But I won’t do that to you — because unlike you, I’m a good person.”   
  
King decided not to respond to the sanctimonious asshole, lest she say (or even do) something that could be used against her. Instead, she held her head up high in an attempt to appear at least somewhat dignified, which wasn’t easy given her disheveled state.   
  
(...Thanks, Mr. Orange.)   
  
When the pair finally reached an empty holding cell at the end of the corridor King was ordered inside, where she took a seat on the cot and watched as she was locked in.   
  
“How’s that feel, asshole?”   
  
The unexpected question caught King by surprise. How did _what_ feel? Because she was dealing with a _lot_ of emotions: anger, fear, resentment, annoyance, panic — just to name a few. She was also freezing and in a lot more pain than she was letting on. And being called an “asshole” certainly didn’t help her disposition. However, instead of vocalizing any of that, she squinted at the officer and simply replied with, “What?”   
  
“You’re finally where you belong, you low life bitch! So how does it feel?”   
  
King knew this pig was trying to get a rise out of her; she _knew_ it, but she had always had some… issues... with keeping her temper in check — particularly when she was underestimated or disrespected. She was about to blurt out the very first thing that came to mind, but — thankfully? — Mr. Sanctimonious went on:   
  
“My cousin got on the wrong side of Big. Not too long ago he was admitted to the hospital with six broken bones and a crushed windpipe. Said the man who did it was a well-dressed, pretty-boy blonde — didn’t look like the type Big would normally hang with, but took pleasure in inflicting every single hit all the same. Got any ideas of who that might’ve been, cunt?”   
  
King instantly remembered that guy: It had only been about three weeks prior when he pulled a knife on her after being informed that Big wasn’t pleased with him sampling the product. He had actually cut her, too — right on the side of her abdomen, under her ribs. The sharp metal had nicked the very bottom of the tape that was keeping her breasts flat, and left a small but painful cut that was still healing.   
  
Naturally she made him pay for it, though she had to admit that the throat stomp was definitely a little too far.   
  
“Hey! I’m talking to you!”   
  
Mr. Sanctimonious rattled the bars of the cell, which only pissed King off a little more. However, she needed to try not to show it — to just stay composed and hope that he would stop antagonizing her and walk away.   
  
“ _Je m’en fou_ ,” she intoned through gritted teeth.   
“Do you even understand what’s happening right now? Do you understand that you’re not getting out of here?”   
“I understand that you’re bothering me,” King responded, her tone devoid of emotion.   
“You’re exactly where degenerates like you _belong_ .”   
“I’m _aware_ ,” King sighed.   
“Then you’re aware that you’re gonna fry, right? I’ll _personally_ make sure that they throw your ass in the chair!”  
“As a cop you should know that it’s lethal injection. Or the gas chamber if I so choose. And, even then, I wouldn’t be sentenced to death anyway, so your statement is irrelevant.”   
  
Mr. Sanctimonious was very obviously angered. He gripped the handle of his baton so hard that his knuckles were beginning to change colour. 

“Do you think you’re smarter than me?!” 

King didn’t know if responding would be a good idea; if she said the wrong thing she could pay for it in court. However, she knew that if this went on she would absolutely lose her temper, which she really couldn’t let happen. So she pressed her lips together and willed herself to stay calm, but Mr. Sanctimonious drew his baton and banged on the bars, the loud noise reverberating through the area.  
  
“I asked you a question,” he barked.   
“I _know_ I’m smarter than you,” King retorted, her voice level despite being fed up with this man’s shit. She glared right at him and went on:

“I bet you were just a dumb jock with an inferiority complex — probably because you have a small penis and daddy issues — who decided you’d get into law enforcement instead of going to college so you could exert power over people to make yourself feel better. But now you’ve hit your ceiling. You’ll always be nothing but a lowly badge because you have just the right amount of muscle to intimidate people, but not enough brainpower to graduate to a detective or a chief. Now, are we done, or do I have to crush _your_ windpipe, too?” 

Mr. Sanctimonious momentarily fell into stunned silence. He then hurled a few more insults at King, but, clearly wounded, stalked off, yelling at anyone he saw along the way.

King waited until he was gone before releasing a deep breath and allowing her shoulders to sag a little bit. She then pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them firmly while staring off at the plain wall across from her. Wasn’t she supposed to get a phone call or something? Or were the movies wrong? Not that it mattered; the only people she could even _consider_ calling were her aunt and uncle — who only put up with her for her brother’s sake because they legitimately hated her (and if they didn’t they had a funny way of showing it). 

Nevertheless, King found herself thinking about what she would tell her family if she _were_ to call (which, realistically, she probably would), and about the vitriolic lecture she would no doubt receive before they left her to rot. She then thought about her little brother, Jean, who was her entire reason for going to work for Big in the first place, and of how disappointed (and pissed) he was going to be when he inevitably found out that, not only was his big sister a criminal, but all of the money that had gone toward his medical expenses was “dirty.”  
  
That was what did it.   
  
King put her head down and squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to stop the tears from flowing but had no such luck because _everything hurt_ and _she was in jail_. She involuntarily let out a choked sob and hoped no one heard it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay then! Second chapter in the books! A couple of little things:
> 
> * I've set Southtown in southern California for a myriad of reasons. With that being said, it actually does get a little chilly in SoCal during winter.  
> * Time for a little math. R&D takes place roughly in May; King is just barely 21, and her birthday is April 8th. So, if she spent seven months doing the bouncer/bodyguard/enforcer thing, then that would put the time of year at... December! And winter officially begins on December 21st so now you have a time frame for this so you can better visualize!  
> * Va te faire foutre = fuck you or fuck off. Take your pick.  
> * There was a very specific reason I picked the name Cécile for King; not only was it on top baby name lists for the year(s) she was born (remember, I've moved her birth year up), but, also, because it's ridiculously feminine and directly conflicts with her more masculine tendencies.  
> * Je m'en fou = is a hella rude way to say "I don't care." Basically, "I don't give a shit."  
> * I've said this a few times in casual conversation but I think people tend to forget that King was a legit criminal. As such, she was involved in criminal activities — of her own volition because she wanted to help Jean that badly. It should also be noted that, in KOF: Destiny, when she talks about her job she says,"I do my job and I get paid," before leaving a dude in an alley in a pool of his own blood, so, like... she knew what she was doing.  
> * Further going into King's motives and personality, the Japanese version of Capcom vs SNK 2 had unique win conversations between teammates that could be triggered with a specific button command post battle. When putting Yuri and King on the same team there were instances in which Yuri would tell King, "stop it," or, "that's enough" (?) (My Japanese wasn't the best but it was decent at the time...) implying something of a sadistic streak. (This was also mentioned in a news article on the Madman's Cafe where they specifically said that King was a sadist.)  
> * Morally grey characters FTW!  
> * It has been established that King actually has a pretty low pain tolerance.
> 
> Alright ladies and gents and everyone in-between! That's it for this installment! Come back next time for... well, you'll see!
> 
> Cheers~!


	3. Observations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiiiii. Just gonna let you know that this chapter is long — by far the longest in this story. But I was really excited about writing it and I'm even more excited about finally being able to share it with you all. Of course, you know the deal: a few notes at the end.
> 
> Also, thank you to everyone who sticks with me through these looks at King's background and life in general. You're swell.

A loud noise startled King, causing her to jump violently. It took a second for her to realize that she was laying on the cot sideways, one arm smashed under her, the other draped limply over her side. Her neck hurt, her shoulder was cramped up, and she felt like her lower back needed to be adjusted, as her long legs were still bent at the knees and resting at a strange angle. She squinted at the door to the cell, which was being slid open by an officer she hadn't seen before. This one glared at King, his jaw set and eyes narrowed into slits.

"Wake up, scum."

King sucked air in through her teeth as she gingerly sat up, her muscles aching. She must have cried herself out — which was _really_ embarrassing — but that didn't matter because she had just been insulted by _another_ asshole pig. She rose from the cot, stretched her arms over her head (there were several loud cracking sounds) and noticed that the cop was staring right at her breasts.

"Que fais tu!?" King shouted as she quickly hugged herself.  
"There's a detective who wants to see you," the officer informed, completely ignoring her exclamation. "Let's _go_."

Confused (and angry), King slowly exited the cell. She cried out when the officer roughly snatched her arm and practically dragged her back through Holding without a single word (but not before gazing at her cleavage again). It took everything in her power to keep from freeing herself (which wouldn't have been hard) and breaking his face, but, luckily, they reached Processing just before the urge completely overtook her. She swore as she was forcibly shoved toward another man — presumably the detective — who looked her up and down (what the hell?!) before shifting his attention to his subordinate.

"I'll take it from here, thanks."

The detective once again looked King over; his eyes flicked to her hips, then her chest, and finally settled on her face. She pressed her lips together and tried very hard not to say anything, but she was beaten, and hungry, and she really had to pee, but, most importantly, she was absolutely _done_ with people leering at her or insulting her at every turn.

"Si tu n'arrêtes pas de me fixer, je vais te botter le pancréas hors de ton corps tu putain de connard!" she blurted out.

There was a loaded pause before the detective, unfazed, extended his hand toward King, who hadn't stopped glowering up at him.

"Dincht," was all he said.

King raised her eyebrows. Did this man really expect her to shake his hand?! The fucking _audacity_ of _all_ of these people…!

"...King," she growled while she continued to focus on the detective, who was considerably taller than her.  
"I know who you are," Dincht responded curtly. When he realized King wasn't going to shake his hand he pulled it back and placed it in his pocket. "A lot of us do. Had _no_ idea you were a woman, though. That makes things _really_ interesting. Come on."

As King moved through the bustling police department she realized — with some degree of horror — that it was morning, as evidenced by the strong smell of coffee and the sunlight that was filtering through the horizontal blinds on the windows. Soon, her and Dincht reached an open space with several desks arranged all around the area. She immediately noticed a whiteboard next to one of them that had photos taped to it. Photos of everyone in the Syndicate — including her.

"Sit," Dincht gruffly instructed King when they reached his workspace. She stared at the pictures on the board, which were somehow chilling, as she lowered herself onto an uncomfortable wooden chair. The detective sat down on the other side of the desk; he placed his elbows on the cluttered surface and rested his chin on the back of his hands.

"I'll get right to it," he stated. "I've been trying to build a case against Big for a long time, and, to a lesser extent, Howard."

King barely registered the words because she was too busy reading the bullet points that were meticulously written under the grainy image of her:

"King."  
Bouncer at L'Amour  
Big's enforcer  
Very dangerous

The "very" in "very dangerous" was underlined several times, and her full name and date of birth were messily scribbled down under everything else, in red ink as opposed to black. From the corner of her eye she could see that Dincht was watching her with a furrowed brow.

"You deny any of that?"

King slowly shook her head; no.

"Didn't think so. Anyway, I keep hitting walls because I just don't have enough solid information —"  
"But now you do," King interrupted.  
"If you talk, yes."

King forced herself to turn away from the whiteboard. She placed a hand on her forehead and squeezed her eyes shut as she was hit by a strong tension headache.

"Isn't that why you're here?" Dincht inquired. "Guilty conscience and all?"  
"...Yes."  
"Okay then. So you talk — give me everything you have on your buddies — and maybe I'll be able to help you out."  
"They're not my buddies."  
"Sure, kid."  
"Am I being charged?" King asked while trying to keep her voice level.  
"Not officially. Not yet. But I can make it so that you won't have to worry about anything. Give up what you know and you can walk out of here with a slap on the wrist. But if you don't, I can't guarantee anything."  
"This sounds an awful lot like blackmail."

Dincht smirked.

"Which is it?"  
"I _will_ tell you everything," King replied. "...But I want immunity."  
"I was under the impression that you were going to talk regardless."

King drew in a very deep breath and kept her eyes trained on Dincht, who wasn't wrong: her plan _was_ to spill everything, even if it meant doing time. However, if there was even a small chance that she could avoid it she was most definitely going to take it. She settled back against the hard seat but didn't say a word.

"Okay then. I think we can work something out," Dincht stated. "But first I need to get some things in order. Sit tight and I'll be back."  
"So, wait," King started. "You're just going to leave me — a ' _very_ dangerous' person — unsupervised in a building full of armed people?"  
"You _really_ think I'm stupid enough to leave you by yourself?"

It was King's turn to smirk.

Clearly annoyed, Dincht rose from his seat and craned his neck so he could see beyond the various desks and other staff. It took just a second before he waved an arm and shouted, "Ryan! I need you over here!"

A young beat cop who must have been around King's age approached, curiosity all over her face, which had a very all-American-girl-next-door-but-make-her-incredibly-hot quality to it — right down to the faint smattering of freckles that ran across the bridge of her nose and just under her eyes, which were such a pale shade of blue that they were almost grey. Although at least chin-length, her light blonde hair was tied back in a little ponytail, and despite being fully clothed in a standard police uniform, King could tell by her well-toned arms and somewhat burly shoulders that she was in incredible shape. However she could also tell that this young officer had seen some shit, as evidenced by a sadness that was practically radiating from her DNA.

"What's up?"

The officer named Ryan had a high, almost babyish voice that King was not expecting.

"I need you to watch Ms. Lev- _ass-_ er over here. Make sure she doesn't go anywhere. Can you do that for me?"  
"Sure thing!"  
"Thanks. I'll be back."

The detective took his leave, which left King with the female cop, who casually plopped down into the seat next to her.

"Hi!" She said with a big smile.  
"...hi," King responded, taken aback by this Ryan woman's friendly demeanor. Compared to everyone else she met it was like apples and oranges. Hell, apples and chocolate.

"So, you are…?" The cop prodded innocently.

King quirked a brow: She recalled Dincht saying that "a lot" of the cops knew who she was, but it seemed that Ryan was one of the ones who _didn't_ … which probably explained why she was being so pleasant.

"You... don't know who I am?"  
"Well, I mean, I kinda do — a little bit — but I feel like a formal introduction would be a lot nicer than rumours and street gossip. Sooooooo…?"

A pause. And then:

"...King."  
"Is that your cool street name?" Ryan asked with a grin.

King narrowed her eyes. Touché.

There was another pause before Ryan extended a small hand, her expression light.

"Blue Mary."  
"Is that _your_ cool street name?" King shot back acerbically.  
"Kindasortasomething like that."

King didn't know why, but she found herself drawn to this woman. Not in a sexual way (especially not after her messy breakup with her ex, which was still pretty fresh), but in a platonic, this-person-seems-pretty-cool kind of way. It was because of that that she found herself shaking the cop's outstretched hand.

"I'm not calling you 'Blue,'" she remarked dryly.  
"That's fine. Anyway, _that_ says your name is —" Mary fixed her eyes on the whiteboard and focused on the messy writing — "Cécile. Cécile… does that say Marie? Levasseur."

King raised her eyebrows, surprised, because this… Mary… had actually said her name correctly.

"It's a pretty name," she went on. "Like you, I guess."

King did a double-take. What the hell was up with the people in this precinct?!

"I don't mean it like you're ugly," Mary said quickly. "Because you're definitely not. I just mean that you have this androgyny thing going on, so, like… I don't know if I should call you pretty or handsome. Maybe pretty handsome."  
"...Oh."  
"Not to mention all those bruises. You got into a nasty fight before you got here, didn't you?"  
"I _fell_ ," King replied sarcastically.  
"Obviously," Mary told her with a wry tilt of her head. She leaned back in her seat and stared intently at King, who was beginning to feel uncomfortable under her gaze, as it almost felt like she was looking right _through_ her.

"What's the story with your shirt?"

The question made King grimace. How was she supposed to answer that? Somehow, she didn't think saying she was hit with some crazy karate technique that ate through layers of fabric would be acceptable. She sighed but didn't say anything.

"Okay —" Mary abruptly stood — "let's go."  
"Where?"  
"The locker room."

King didn't move, which made Mary frown.

"You can't keep walking around in those torn clothes," she stated. "It's really messed up that no one has offered you a new top."  
"Fucking _men_ ," King griped.  
"Not all men," Mary replied with a grin. King _felt_ her face contort in an expression of utter distaste, which, for some reason, made Mary start laughing.

"That was a _joke_ ," she explained. "Some of these guys _are_ pretty pervy. Anyway, if I leave to get you a shirt you might decide to just walk out of here — or you might get shot — so you're coming with me. Up!"

King pressed her lips together as she stood. Mary then gripped her arm firmly (but gently?) so she could steer her through the police station. Every now and then they would come across an officer or two whose eyes would travel straight to King's chest, which she was still concealing as best she could: One such instance of ogling was so blatant that King had to fight the urge to tear herself from Mary's hold just so she could kick the offending man's testicles into his throat. However, her companion obviously picked up on it; she tightened her grip, but, in a move that surprised (and amused) King, turned and _hissed_ at her fellow coworker. He scurried away and the two kept walking until they came across a small man holding a box of doughnuts.

"Bergara!" Mary exclaimed gleefully. She let go of King so she could shoot finger guns at the newcomer.  
"Ryan! Doughnut?"  
"YES!"

Mary peered into the box before turning to King.

"What sort of doughnut do you like? Do you even eat them? You're not on a diet or anything, are you?"

As great as _any_ type of food sounded, King didn't really know if she would be able to bring herself to eat anything. She started to respond but Mary had already plucked a glazed doughnut from the pack. She thanked the man called Bergara and continued forward, just a couple of paces ahead of King, who was completely mystified by how amicable this woman was. Every other person King had come across was a total jerk — presumably because they knew all about her role in the Syndicate. However, even though Mary knew about her she didn't seem to care. King couldn't help wondering if it was a "kill them with kindness" sort of thing...

"Okay," Mary said as she pushed a heavy door open. "Come on in…"

King slowly followed Mary into the women's locker room, where the cop promptly spun around to face her. She smiled and held the doughnut out.

"Here."

It was a moment before King reluctantly took the pastry and sat on a nearby bench so she could bite into it. At the same time, Mary sauntered over to a locker across the room, opened it up, and pulled out a gray sweatshirt that had SPD printed in big blue letters on the front. With a wrinkled nose she shook it out.

"It's… a two ex-L so it might be kinda big..."  
"I'm a big girl," King replied around a mouthful of sugary bliss. She quickly stuffed the rest of the doughnut, which was slightly too large, in her mouth, which seemed to amuse Mary.

Face full, King raised her eyebrows. The only thing she was really able to do was gesture vaguely with her hand.

"You know you have one hell of a reputation, don't you?" Mary stated while placing the sweatshirt on the bench King was sitting on. "It's kinda crazy because I've heard all sorts of things about you — namely that you're a very dangerous _man_ — but you're actually a woman inhaling a doughnut right now and you don't seem so bad."

It took a few long seconds for King to finish chewing. She finally swallowed, wiped her hand on her torn up shirt, and frowned as she started working at the buttons.

"You'd be surprised."  
"Pffft, I doubt that," Mary responded. With a smirk she crossed her arms and casually leaned against a locker while King, now in just her bra (which she was probably going to have to _cut_ off later thanks to how wrecked the zipper was), walked her "top" over to a waste bin in the corner of the room. She then made her way to a nearby toilet and pointed at it.

"May I…?" she asked.  
"I'm not gonna keep you from peeing, geez."  
"Thanks..."

With a huge sigh of relief King entered the stall; she finished up fast, appreciative that Mary was considerate enough to get her a doughnut and a shirt in addition to letting her empty her bladder. She exited the small space, walked straight to one of two sinks, and started washing her hands, all the while inspecting her reflection, which was downright pitiful. She stopped when she noticed Mary watching her through the mirror. The sadness King sensed earlier was back, but there was something else that she couldn't even place, which set her on edge.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked bluntly.  
"No reason."

Silence.

"Okay then —" King turned around to face Mary head-on — "Why are you being so nice to me?"  
"Should I be mean? Because I can totally shift gears if you want."  
"...No. It's just…"

King trailed off. Thinking back, she really couldn't remember the last time someone other than her kid brother treated her with genuine kindness. It was actually so depressing that it choked her up a little bit.

"I'm not used to people being nice," she said quietly while she dried her hands. She then walked to the bench, picked the sweatshirt up, and put it on. It was grotesquely oversized but she was grateful that she finally had a _real_ shirt to wear. Of course, the fact that it was police attire had to have been some sort of cosmic joke.

"Not bad," Mary snickered. She considered King carefully before saying, "You're doing a great job of holding it together, by the way."

The unexpected comment froze King, who was adjusting her new sweatshirt. Other than the brief interlude in her cell the night before she had been relatively stoic during her time inside the Southtown PD building. She widened her eyes while Mary let out an over-exaggerated gasp and pantomimed clutching a necklace.

"How _ever_ did this chick _know_ that I was putting up a front?!"

King didn't say anything so Mary continued.

"It's not rocket science. You just don't wanna be seen as 'weak.' Because then everyone will _definitely_ think you're just a scared little girl trying to hang with the big boys, right? Although, I mean, obviously you _did_ hang with the big boys for a little while, otherwise you wouldn't be here. But now you _are_ here, and despite your reputation for being some kind of sadistic thug you _are_ scared. You're scared _shitless_ of what might happen now, and you're trying your best to hide it with mean glares and quiet sarcasm but you're about ready to break, which isn't really surprising at _all_."

King was rendered speechless by how well this random woman whom she had only met a few minutes prior was able to read her. It was impressive (almost eerie, to be honest…) but all it really did was piss her off. She took in Mary's appearance, thought about the general air she gave off, and drew a few conclusions of her own.

"Just like _you're_ hiding behind that cool girl facade, right?!"  
"'Cool girl?'"

Something strange flashed across Mary's face then — something King _really_ couldn't place. Nevertheless, her sometimes problematic temper had been set off, which meant she was about to let loose with a flood of angry, borderline stream of consciousness words that — no matter how correct or incorrect they were — probably had no business being uttered in the first place.

"Yeah — the _Cool_ Girl! The one who enjoys Sunday football and stuffing chili dogs down her face while she magically keeps a size two figure! The one who's super hot and drinks cheap beer with the guys and never gets upset about anything! Just sits around with a carefree attitude — because she's the _Cool Girl._ Sound familiar yet?!"

Mary cocked her head to the side, evidently very interested, as King went on.

"But it turns out that you actually _hate_ football and think chili dogs and cheap beer are awful. And if you don't work hard to keep that figure, people will begin to see the _real_ you. None of that matters, though because you keep playing a bullshit part for whatever _your_ weird, bullshit reason is, but in reality you're just as fucked up as I am!"

Mary drew in a sharp breath, and even though her posture was still relaxed King could see that she struck a nerve somewhere. Part of her worried that she was _too_ harsh, but the other part of her couldn't care less. Mary was friendly, but she wasn't her _friend_ ; she probably thought the same things about her that the others did — she was just too nice to say any of it. With that in mind King waited for a response — to be told how awful she was, or how she deserved to be locked up — but, instead, Mary briefly hung her head. She then sauntered right up to King, looked her dead in the face… and smiled.

"You got me, babe," she stated coolly, while spreading her arms wide, her piercing eyes locked on King's. "I'm a size six and I prefer baseball, hamburgers, and the hard stuff. And you don't want to get me upset because you wouldn't like me when I'm angry. That doesn't matter though because I think… no, I _know_ that I've got you, too."  
"You don't have shit," King responded coldly.  
"You sure about that, Cécile?"

Caught off-guard by the sudden use of her actual name, King blinked a few times before taking a tiny step back. This woman was like some kind of psychological ninja; it was like every single thing she _did_ or every single word she _said_ was designed to worm its way into King's head for the express purpose of making her let her guard down. And as much as she hated to admit it, it was working. With a defeated sigh she crossed her arms over her chest (which looked quite silly thanks to her overly long sleeves) and plopped down onto the bench.

"Don't call me that."  
"Why not? Don't tell me it's because you have a certain image to uphold…?"  
"I…"

King trailed off. She furrowed her brow as Mary lowered herself onto the seat next to her, that odd sadness of hers back in full effect.

"We've _both_ been playing bullshit parts," she sighed while folding her hands in her lap. "But the difference is that _you_ don't have to anymore… King."

A somewhat uncomfortable silence descended on the room, with Mary staring down at her hands and King looking at her sideways, unsure of how to respond. The cop — whom she was pretty sure she actually _liked_ — had treated her with nothing but good will, whereas she hadn't exactly been kind in return. She was hit by such a strong feeling of remorse that she could have sworn she felt it physically.

"...I'm sorry."

Mary slowly turned her head; she offered King a questioning gaze but didn't say anything.

"I'm really sorry. I had no right to talk to you like that…!"  
"Pfft, it's fine," Mary said with a nonchalant wave of her hand. "You're jus —"  
"No!" King interjected. "It's not 'fine!' You have been… _amazing_ , whereas I've been such a royal _bitch_!"  
"I see what you did there."

King frowned; she really didn't mean to make any weird jokes or references. Nevertheless, she swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and sighed. She had a sudden urge to explain herself — to explain _everything_.

"I didn't think it would ever be like this," she started. "But… my little brother has a growth disorder… he can't walk, but he's also chronically ill on top of it. I needed money to help my family pay for his medical expenses but waiting tables just wasn't enough to cover that, _and_ tuition, _and_ rent."  
"So you joined Big's crew..."  
"I started as a bouncer, but the catch was that they wouldn't hire a woman for the job. So I pretended to be someone I'm not… I played the part… and got the job. Big noticed my… skills… and 'promoted' me. I should have never taken it, but the pay was too good to pass up."  
"You made a bad choice," Mary wistfully remarked. "People make bad choices."  
"No, I made a _stupid_ choice."

Mary flashed King a sympathetic look.

"Then someone in his inner circle found out about it," King continued, her resolve starting to collapse. "We… had history. So he started blackmailing me. If I didn't pay up, he'd spill my secret to Big. I should have left then. I should have just…"

King sniffled, all at once ashamed. She covered her face with her hands, as she didn't want Mary — or _anyone_ for that matter — to actually _see_ her cry. Hot tears stung her eyelids and it became a little harder to breathe.

"Merde," she whispered. She began crying, but quietly, so that she could at least retain some semblance of decorum, but, for some reason, Mary's hand on her shoulder pushed her over the line. Much to her chagrin she started full-on sobbing.

Several long minutes passed. Finally King uncovered her flushed face so she could see Mary.

"Don't tell anyone, okay?"  
"I won't," Mary assured her with a wan smile.

King pressed her lips together while tears dripped down her cheeks. She hastily wiped them away, forgetting that there was a huge bruise from where Mr. Orange clocked her. Mary flashed a concerned glance when King winced.

"It's fine. I'm fine…"

She shut her eyes and took a deep, steadying breath.

"I think… I think I'm ready to go out there now."  
"You sure?"

King nodded. She then washed her face, stood up a little straighter, and let Mary walk her back to Dincht's desk. The detective, who was leaning back in his seat, was very obviously agitated. He scowled at King while she carefully lowered herself into one of the chairs across from him.

"I talked to the DA," he began. "I couldn't get you full immunity, but I convinced them to put you on probation — one year — if you tell me _everything_ and, should it come down to it, testify in court. Think you can do that?"  
"Y-yes," King stammered, surprised by how light the sentence would be given her crimes.

"Ryan," Dincht suddenly barked, "What are you still doing here?"  
"Moral support," Mary sang from the seat next to King.  
"'Moral support?' Are you fucking kidding me? Go back to your desk," Dincht commanded.  
"Not happening, Sir."  
"Ryan," the detective growled.

King watched Mary carefully and with some degree of amazement as the smaller woman's casual expression was replaced by an icy glare that King would have never even thought she was capable of.

"I'm _staying_ with her."

Dincht's face was full of surprise… and maybe even dread. Wide-eyed, he cleared his throat; he promptly turned away from Mary, who grinned sweetly, her attitude once again easygoing, and focused his attention back to King.

"Start from the beginning."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaaaand a bromance is born! There are several little references here so I'mma just get right to it for those who didn't catch them:
> 
> * Que fais tu = What are you doing  
> * Si tu n'arrêtes pas de me fixer, je vais te botter le pancréas hors de ton corps tu putain de connard = If you don't stop staring at me I am going to kick your pancreas out of your body you fucking asshole  
> * Did any FFVIII fans catch Dincht there? That was Zell's last name. Yes, I absolutely did that on purpose.  
> * Obviously Mary hasn't become a private detective yet, but the stuff with Butch and her father has already happened. This also means that the special cocktail has also been created, which means... Mary has been guilty of some underage drinking. Whoopsie.  
> * King's surname is pronounced Leh-vah-sur, but is constantly mispronounced as Lev-ass-er. So Dincht isn't really calling her an ass, he's just butchering her last name.  
> * Her name is hella French, huh? And hella feminine, haha.  
> * Hashtag Not All Men. Haha. Btw, this is something that shows up a few years later for the ladies in How Do You Sleep?  
> * If you're a fan of Buzzfeed Unsolved then you probably noticed what I did with Ryan and Bergara immediately. If not, one of the hosts of that series is named Ryan Bergara.  
> * King's "Cool Girl" tirade is a reference to Gillian Flynn's book, Gone Girl, in which the character Amy has a monologue about being the "cool girl" that guys want. Look it up and read it; it'll come up in a Google search.  
> * Mary's "You wouldn't like me when I'm angry" is a reference to the Incredible Hulk.  
> * Merde = shit  
> * About immunity: Immunity is, of course, when someone can't be held responsible for violations of the law. From Wikipedia because words are hard: Witness immunity from prosecution occurs when a prosecutor grants immunity to a witness in exchange for testimony or production of other evidence. 
> 
> Okay! We got through it! I think that covers everything for this chapter! As always, it would be much appreciated if you take the time to tell me what's up. I also want to say to my regulars (you lot know who you are) that I totally adore and appreciate you and your support! 
> 
> Cheers~!


	4. Sisters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably should have made you guys wait for this but whatever. Here it is. I would like to remind you that only one person calls King "Céc" and that's her brother, Jean. Everyone else calls her Cécile... or King. I'm bringing this up for a reason.
> 
> Onward~

It was one week later when King lay on the bed in the guestroom (which happened to be her old bedroom) at her aunt and uncle's house, her eyes fixed on the plain white ceiling. It had been a pretty eventful seven days: Thanks to Mr. Orange (whom she found out was named Ryo Saka… something) and his pal (Garcia?), Big and several other members of the Syndicate had been taken into custody. Thankfully the kidnapped girl — King was pretty sure her name was Yuri — was safely returned to her family and, although probably a little traumatized, was more than likely on the way to living her best life. Meanwhile, King was officially sentenced to one year probation… and out of a job, which meant she had to forfeit her tiny apartment in the city to move back in with her disdainful aunt and uncle in suburbia. And, just as she predicted, Jean was pissed off with _and_ disappointed in her. But, despite that, he was still trying to help make her transition from independent adult to… unemployed-adult-with-a-criminal-record a little easier.

Aunt Maddy and Uncle Gary, though? Not so much — especially since they disapproved of pretty much everything King did even _before_ she joined the mob. It wasn't ideal, but she was thankful that she had somewhere to go while she figured things out. After all, finding a new job and getting back out on her own probably wasn't going to be all that easy with a huge blemish on her record, but at least going back to school was still an option. Or maybe she'd just learn a trade? She wasn't entirely sure yet.

In addition to pondering her next moves in life King found herself a little preoccupied with thoughts of the cop, "Blue" Mary, and her overall kindness that day. The officer had made good on her declaration to stay by King's side as she disclosed everything about Big and the Syndicate, but was called away rather abruptly — just as Aunt Maddy arrived at the station (and subsequently tore into King in front of everyone). She felt bad that she hadn't had the chance to say a proper goodbye — or even "thank you" — and hoped that, wherever Mary was, she was at least doing okay...

With a dejected sigh King shut her eyes and started to drift off but the sound of the doorbell brought her back from the brink of unconsciousness. She glanced at the clock on her phone (it was only a little after five) and made a face when she heard her aunt's voice calling her from downstairs. She considered ignoring the shrill yells since Maddy had spent almost the entire afternoon berating her (and was more than likely still in a bad mood) but King knew she would have no choice but to eventually face her again. She grudgingly sat up, left the comfort of the bedroom, and settled at the top of the stairs.

"Que veux-tu de ma vie?!" She called somewhat rudely.  
"Tu avez un visiteur," Maddy responded impatiently.

King furrowed her brow. She didn't know anyone, so who on earth…?

"Ouais, mais c'est qui, _Auntie_?" King yelled crossly as she descended the stairs. (Maddy _hated_ when she called her that.)  
"I don't know," the older woman snarled, switching to English, "Some… woman…! On a motorcycle!"  
"What…?"

Interest piqued, King started toward the door where her aunt stood. Not only did she not know anyone, but she definitely didn't know anyone who rode a motorcycle. She hurriedly approached Maddy, who grumpily informed whoever was outside that King was on her way.

"Dépêche-toi!" Maddy exclaimed, exasperated, as she turned away from the mystery person so she could yell at her niece.

King rolled her eyes as she finally reached the front door.

"Laisse-moi tranquille, tu horrible salo —"

King stopped muttering when her aunt moved aside to reveal none other than Officer Blue Mary Ryan, clad in street clothes, standing at the bottom of the steps. She had one hand in her pocket while the other held a motorcycle helmet. (The bike itself was parked near the curb.) She smiled when King came into view.

"Hi~"  
"Uhhh… hi," King said, puzzled, as she walked past Maddy and out onto the porch. She shut the door behind her and crossed her arms tightly because of how cold the outside air was.

"Wow! Your bruises look a lot better!" Mary commented. "I can actually make out more of your face, which is nice. It's also really cool to see you in normal people clothes and not rags or tents."

King made a face; although the form-fitting henley top she was wearing was unremarkable, her house pants were another story: Adorned with little cartoon cats in space helmets floating among planets and stars, they were a far cry from the sophisticated dress slacks she usually wore.

"Ummm, thank you," King replied. "It's… really cool to not be wearing rags or tents…"

A pause.

"So… why are you here?"  
"Well…"

Mary dragged the word out a little bit while rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet. She glanced at King with an expression that was nothing but sincere.

"I couldn't help thinking about you. We didn't really get to say 'bye' and, I guess I just kinda wanted to follow up and make sure you're doing okay, especially after that scene with your aunt. So I nabbed her address from the database and… ta-da! Here I am!"

King raised her eyebrows: She was legitimately touched by Mary's consideration, especially after the day — no, _days_ — she had been through.

"That's… very kind of you," she remarked. She then grimaced before asking, "You saw that?"  
"More like heard. Her voice carried all the way to the other side of the station…!"  
"Fantastic."  
"Cécile Marie Levasseur —" Mary mock shouted in an angry tone — "Comment osez-vous tu faire arrêter?! Qu'est ce qui ne vas pas chez toi?! J'ai toujours su blah blah blah..."

The corners of King's mouth twitched slightly upward; not only was she impressed by Mary's accent, but she was amused by her impression of the hateful woman in the house, which was almost dead-on. She let out a low chuckle in spite of herself.

"You speak French?"

Mary nodded enthusiastically.

"Yup," she answered. "German, too. But, anyway, that's not the point."  
"What _is_ the point then?"

King pressed her lips together in a thin line, internally kicking herself because of how _rude_ that sounded. Evidently she still had to work on re-learning how to communicate with people like a normal, well-mannered woman, and not like the cold, reticent enforcer she had been while working for Big. Not that it really mattered though because Mary either didn't notice or didn't care, as evidenced by her lack of a reaction. She tilted her head and regarded King very thoughtfully before she wrinkled her brow, obviously concerned.

"Are you really okay?" She probed. "I mean… are you really gonna be alright here?"  
"I… y-yeah," King faltered with a wan smile. "I'll be fine."

There was a somewhat awkward silence as Mary used her free hand to push a lock of hair behind her ear. King, still a little confounded by her presence, decided that she should just cut the conversation short, bid the officer farewell, and go back inside to her less-than-fulfilling life.

"Well… thank you for coming over," she started. "And for all of your hospitality. I appreciate it."  
"Yeah, of course," Mary said.  
"Okay… umm… bye then."  
"See you."

Mary turned on her heel and started toward the driveway while King pivoted and reached for the doorknob. She had one foot on the threshold but abruptly stopped moving when the other woman suddenly called, "Wait!"

King furrowed her brow. She took one step backward, so that she was completely outside again, and shut the door before turning to face Mary, who was slowly walking up the steps.

"Yes?"  
"We should go out sometime," Mary suggested casually. "Not on a date or anything weird like that — not that girls dating is weird — but just to hang out or whatever."

The statement caught King completely off guard. She momentarily pressed her lips together as she squinted at Mary, who was now standing on the porch with her.

"You want… to hang out… with _me_?"  
"Well, yeah."  
"Why?"  
"I'm gonna be super honest here," Mary stated. "This might come as a shock to you, but I don't really like people all that much. I kinda keep to myself, but, I dunno. I think you're neat and would like to get to know you a little more. But, like I said — not in a weird way."

King stared at the officer, more than a little mystified.

"Why would someone like _you_ find someone like me 'neat?'" King asked her carefully.  
"Why not?"  
"Because you're a cop, and I'm a dangerous mobs — ex-mobster."  
"Pffft. So? What does that have to do with anything?" Mary flashed King a pointed glance.  
"Do we even have anything in common?"  
"We're both super adorable," came a cheeky reply.  
"I'm being serious."  
"So am I. But, also, like… don't be mad at me —"  
"Why would I —?"  
"— but I did my own digging on you. And I think there are a couple of things we could totally bond over."

King hugged herself a little tighter (it was really chilly out…) and looked down at her socks. What the hell did Mary mean by her "own digging" and what sort of information would that have even brought up?

"Such as?"  
"We both like to fight, and we both like drinking, and… I'm pretty sure we both like eating… and I bet we both like television! There are lots of things!"

King raised her eyebrows, as everything Mary named off was pretty basic.

"It sounds like you didn't do much digging at all," she said with a frown.  
"Okay, then. You grew up in Montrouge. You've been in America for five years, got into a _lot_ of fights when you were in high school — which you'll have to tell me about some time — but you still graduated at the top of your class. You had a full scholarship and your major was undeclared when you dropped out. Madeleine is your biological aunt — on your dad's side. Also, you're due for your tetanus shot."  
"What," King breathed, wide-eyed, "the fuck…?"

She stared at the cop, slack jawed. What the fresh hell sort of "digging" was _that_?! There was a part of her that almost wanted to punch Mary dead in her freckled face for somehow learning things that no one knew about her, but, at the same time… she was sort of in awe. She made a face while absently fixing her gaze on a burnt out Christmas bulb across the street.

"So… you were born in France, got in trouble for fighting, and dropped out of college as well?" King asked, deadpan.  
"Pfft, no," Mary said with a nonchalant wave of her hand. "But, like, obviously we both had a trash time in high school, and we're both smart, so we can totally have deep, intellectual conversations — in French, if you'd like — and I need my tetanus booster, too."  
"Uh…. huh."

Mary laughed, evidently very amused by the look on King's face. It took just a second, but she cleared her throat, suddenly very serious.

"Listen. I know you have your doubts, but I wouldn't be here if you were some degenerate piece of shit like the rest of Big's crew. I know that you're a good person who made some bad decisions, and I feel like you could benefit from my shining presence in your life. Maybe I could even help set you on the straight and narrow."

King pressed her lips in a very thin line as she considered everything she had just heard.

"Okay," she finally said. "But… what do _you_ get out of having _me_ around? It's not like I have anything to offer at the moment."  
"Sure you do. You actually get it," came Mary's simple response.  
"What do you mean…?"  
"Remember our conversation in the locker room?"  
"...yes?"

Something came over Mary then — the same melancholy King kept picking up on back at the station. It appeared as though she really _did_ strike a nerve with her "Cool Girl" rant.

"That's the first time someone has been able to… _get_ me since… well… for a long time, and..." Mary averted her eyes while she trailed off.

King watched her attentively: the way she said what she said, and the look on her face… she had definitely been through… something. Something that affected her on a massive scale, that _took_ from her — changed her as a person, even. She suddenly found herself wondering who it was the other woman lost, and how long ago. She imagined it must have been either really fresh, or really heartbreaking. Or maybe both.

"You don't want that to go away," King noted softly. "Again."  
"Yeah. Again."

The two women fell quiet. Mary stared down at the ground while King leaned her back against the door, unsure of what to say. Just like Mary could see through her, she was clearly able to see glimpses of who was behind the Cool Girl mask… and to say she didn't want to know more would have been an outright lie. She was about to speak but Mary beat her to it.

"Anyway, hanging out," she began jovially. "We could go get something to eat — I'd totally pay since you're out of a job — or, like… maybe we could just… hang out on your aunt's porch while you freeze your ass off, I dunno."

King let out a tiny chuckle. Maybe spending a little time with this woman would actually be good for her…?

"I... think I'd like that," she responded slowly.  
"Really?"  
"Yes," King asserted with a nod. "But you don't have to be Cool Girl in front of me. Okay?"  
"Oh, I know," Mary said with a smile. "Another reason I think you're neat."  
"For what it's worth, I… think you're neat, too."  
"Great! So… do you wanna try this again?"

King quirked a brow.

"Try what again?"

Mary cleared her throat and stuck her hand out.

"Hi," she said. "I'm Mary. And you are…?"

King studied the cop, who was once again bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet, grinning from ear to ear. She glanced down at Mary's outstretched hand and furrowed her brow as she realized that she didn't know what to call herself anymore. She was only King to the guys in Big's crew; now that she was no longer associated with any of that… who the hell was she? She thought back to the conversation at the police station, when she was told that she didn't have to play a part anymore. With that in mind, she took Mary's hand in hers and, with a smile of her own, gave it a firm shake.

"You can call me Céc."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now you get why that last line is important, yes? Because all pretenses of bullshit are over. Mary can be Mary and King can be Céc. Anyway, I'm sure you're wondering what the hell King and Maddy are saying to each other (among other things), so let's get into it, shall we?
> 
> * King musing about maybe learning a trade is a subtle clue about her eventually getting into bar tending.  
> * Que veux-tu de ma vie = What do you want from my life?; Tu avez un visiteur = you have a visitor. Notice how Maddy and King use "tu" when addressing one another, and not "vous." This is because tu is informal, and, in some cases, can even be disrespectful depending on who you're talking to. Not only are King and Maddy family, but they just don't like each other.  
> * Gary and Maddy only put up with King for Jean's sake. If he wasn't in the picture things would be much different for King.  
> * Ouais, mais c'est qui = Yeah, but who is it; Dépêche-toi = Hurry up  
> * Laisse-moi tranquille, tu horrible salo — = Leave me alone you horrible bit —  
> * King (canonically) likes cats, and since she's just kinda lounging around, unemployed, well... why not.  
> * "Comment osez-vous tu faire arrêter?! Qu'est ce qui ne vas pas chez toi?! J'ai toujours su blah blah blah..." = How dare you get arrested?! What is wrong with you?! I always knew...  
> * Headcanon: Mary speaks English (duh), French, German, and is working on learning Spanish  
> * Remember: King's AOF 1 bio in the All About SNK book says she "appeared in Southtown five years ago." She would have been sixteen, and in high school. The thing about her fighting all the time is a headcanon I have; she beat the shit out of a lot of her classmates for various reasons. Maybe I'll go into it some other time.  
> * Montrouge is a suburb of Paris  
> * Tetanus boosters are given to adults around the age of 21 or 22.  
> * Headcanon: Mary was a huge geek in school (this is referenced in other fics, when she talks about D&D alignments and references Ents respectively) and even a little overweight. Hey, man, she WORKED for those abs, okay. But that's why she says she had a "trash time."  
> * The event King is honing in on is, of course, the day Mary lost her father and Butch in a shooting.  
> * Obviously King goes back to assuming that "identity" at some point, as evidenced by later fics in which she is referred to as King — even by Mary.
> 
> Okay, party people. That's it! That's the story! I hope you all enjoyed it, and I doubly hope you'll stop to tell me if you actually did, and maybe contribute some input. For instance, did you have a favourite scene or line of dialogue? You know, stuff like that.
> 
> Cheers~!


End file.
